


In a Place That Makes No Sound

by bookmarc



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Escapist fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookmarc/pseuds/bookmarc
Summary: Bucky goes on enforced leave. Natasha makes it into a holiday. Sort of.





	In a Place That Makes No Sound

"'He needs to get away' like I'm some swooning Victorian maiden or something!" Bucky complains, and Natasha makes a little noise that means she's not really listening to him. "Nat!"  
She looks up from her phone. "What do you want me to say? No, James, clearly your doctor is wrong, along with the entire psych team, and you've just been imagining those heart palpitations."  
"Like I'm gonna fucking take off, though, and leave you all - like _that's_ going to make me any less worried --"  
"James. I'm going too."  
"Wai- what?"  
"I'm going too."  
"You have missions! Things!"  
"I am not the only person in the world capable of doing things, Barnes."  
"But --"  
"Compassionate sick leave. We're technically part of Stark Industries, now. They're a tech company. Ergo, _excellent_ benefits package."  
"Nat?"  
"You don't have to look like your puppy just died. Do you want Steve to come?"  
"What?"  
"Steve. Or Sam. I need to know how many bedrooms we need."  
"What?"  
"My god, you're useless. Barnes. I am booking us a place to live for the next few months, until your endocrine system has leveled out a little. I need to know how many bedrooms we need."  
"No."  
"Okay, just two. That makes this easier." She scrolls a little more. Barnes is silent for a long minute. She glances up at him, then, resigned, sets her phone down to look at him properly. "James. I know this isn't easy. Trust me, okay?"  
"Yeah." It comes out a little hoarse, but it doesn't really matter. She knows all the things he's not saying.

It's rough, for a while.  
They wake up to slow grey mornings before the fog goes out, and Bucky curls on the couch with tea or sits at the kitchen table with a paperback. There's three bookstores in this town, which is impressive, since its radius is less than a mile. The one nearest their house, a block and a half away, is stuffed to the brim with old trade paperbacks, mostly sci-fi. Bucky brought home a pile the first day and stacked them against the side of the couch. He's nearly done with his third. Nat usually camps on the couch with her laptop for a few hours each morning, getting caught up on work. Bucky just has his phone, which everyone involved had agreed it wasn't safe for him to go without. Most of the time it stays tucked away in the first drawer of his bedside table.  
In the afternoons, Bucky usually goes out for a walk: they can get down to the beach from the backyard of the cottage they're renting, or walk down through town to the rocks at the edge of the ocean proper. Sometimes he'll grab one of the bikes stowed in the garage and head south until he passes into a national park, then lock the bike to a tree and hike back into the wilds. He comes back smelling of redwoods and mist and the musty earth smell of leaf mould.

It's late summer, so the days are long and cool, only warming up in the very middle of the afternoon. In the evening there are people with bonfires on the beach. The two of them go out a couple times, make a fire themselves, chat with locals and tourists. When they head back, they'll sometimes read for a bit. More often, Natasha will read and Bucky will curl by her side, let her absently stroke his hair. Sometimes he'll fall asleep like this; sometimes he'll move back to his own room. Sometimes Natasha wakes him when she's ready to sleep and kicks him out. Sometimes he doesn't fall asleep, but watches her with warm eyes half-closed, and when she sets down her book and clicks off the light, he can slide against her to hear her heartbeat steady and slow.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine that they go to Mendicino, California, where there are indeed three bookstores and paths down to the water from people's backyards. (Its radius is slightly larger than a mile, however.) This was written pre-Civil War, for context. The title is taken from the song "A Gun in the First Act."
> 
> Any feedback adored, concrit always welcome :)


End file.
